I am a certain type of artist.
I don’t always make
Having many shelves upon which are items left behind
Some intentional, some not.
I am in a dark forest
I am in the West Texas brush
I am by a wide, still river moving steadily to the Gulf of Mexico
I am in the willowy wilds before I reach the mountains
Where I am in a dark forest again.
I am a circle repeating
Climbing out of time into the present
My beating heart repeats longings
And I listen when I can.